The Lost King of France: A True Story of Revolution, Revenge, and DNA (21 page)

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Authors: Deborah Cadbury

BOOK: The Lost King of France: A True Story of Revolution, Revenge, and DNA
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On the May 11, 1794, the day after Élisabeth’s execution, Maximilien Robespierre himself came to the Temple prison to check on the two children. The Grand Pontiff of the Supreme Being—as he was now known behind his back—wanted to assure himself that they were securely detained. “The municipals showed great respect for him,” recalled Marie-Thérèse. “His visit was secret to all persons in the Tower, who either did not know who he was, or would not tell me. He looked at me insolently and cast his eyes over my books.” Marie-Thérèse gave him a note. “My brother is ill. I have written to the Convention for permission to take care of him. The Convention has not yet replied to me, so I am asking again.” However, the girl’s concerns for her brother were once more greeted with a mocking silence. Although there is no formal record of it, Robespierre almost certainly inspected Louis-Charles, perhaps just by peering through the grille. He could see for himself the conditions in which the boy was held, and, it seems, was quite satisfied with what he saw. No orders were given to clean the cell, provide new clothes or alleviate his suffering.
Louis-Charles was now paying the price for this calculated neglect. He had visibly outgrown the filthy rags that passed for clothes, emphasizing the fact that his arms and legs seemed disproportionately long. Large swellings on his knees made any movement a painful process, and his skin, once so clear and fresh, was covered in various scabs and pustules, giving him no peace. He spent the day in silence, curled up motionless on the bed or the floor, absorbed in his misery. According to Gagnié, the cook, the boy had
to be shouted at just to draw his attention to a plate of food slid through the wicket. On one occasion, he noticed that the boy had not touched his food for three days. Gagnié obtained permission to go into the child’s cell to talk to him. He asked Louis-Charles why he wouldn’t eat. “Well, what would you do, my friend?” came the reply. “I want to die!”
In the room above, Marie-Thérèse’s requests to take care of her brother or obtain news of her mother or her aunt were constantly ignored. Not knowing what might happen next, or whether she too would meet her end, Marie-Thérèse gained some kind of solace from scratching a permanent record of her suffering on the walls of her room:
Marie-Thérèse is the most unhappy creature in the world. She can obtain no news of her mother; nor be reunited with her, though she has asked it a thousand times.
 
Live, my good mother! Whom I love so well, but of whom I can hear no tidings.
 
Oh, father. Watch over me from Heaven above. Oh my God, forgive those who have made my family die.
The revolution had been inspired by the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Yet by the late spring of 1794, Robespierre’s apparently decisive, strong leadership was now being exposed as criminal madness. In the name of the “Supreme Being” and the “Goddess of Reason” he had become a ruthless murderer. Originally only aristocrats and clergy were persecuted, but now quite ordinary people became fearful of arrest on trivial charges under the Law of Suspects. Although since Robespierre had been in power, the enemy had been entirely driven from France and pushed back beyond the Alps and the Pyrenees, and royalist rebellions in the Vendée and at Lyon had been suppressed, the Terror continued to intensify. The more blood that flowed, the more Robespierre became obsessed with purging the State of traitors. Executions increased sharply during the spring: 258 in April and
345 in May. In June, when the Revolutionary Tribunal was given still more powers, that figure rose to almost 700. During this “Great Terror,” no one felt safe at the National Convention; the fear that they might be next forced their hand.
There were many now who hated Robespierre, especially the more moderate members of the Convention and followers of Georges Danton, and they wanted above all to see Robespierre dead and Danton avenged. In July, delegates at the Convention conspired with Robespierre’s enemies on the Committees of Public Safety and General Security. The once-powerful dictator now found himself rapidly outflanked as events moved swiftly against him.
Heedless of the warning signs, in a lengthy and radical speech on July 26, Robespierre insisted that more blood must be shed to rid the government of traitors; even the all-powerful committees should be purged. The following day he was greeted with shouts of abuse, derision and “Down with the tyrant” in the National Convention while trying to defend his policies. Finally, the National Convention issued a writ against Robespierre and many of his supporters, such as Couthon, declaring them outlaws—
hors la loi.
As outlaws, they could be guillotined without trial on mere proof of identity by the Revolutionary Tribunal.
Seeking refuge in the Hôtel de Ville, Robespierre and his allies in a panic-stricken frenzy may have tried to kill themselves before they were taken prisoner. A member of the Convention, General Paul-François Barras, was appointed head of the troops to capture the outlaw.
As his troops closed in on them, Augustin Robespierre, Maximilien’s brother, fell from an upper story. Couthon appeared to have fallen down a flight of stone steps and was collapsed on the floor with a head wound. Robespierre himself was lying on the table of the Committee of Public Safety in agony. Covered with his own blood, his jaw shot away, and his face distorted in gruesome pain, it seemed he had tried, and failed, to kill himself.
The next day, Robespierre was taken through crowded streets, people
pursuing the tumbrel to curse him. The Supreme Being who was always so neat and well presented now made a hideous spectacle. According to one account, “He was covered with blood and dirt, his jaw was shattered, one eye was out of its socket and hanging on his cheek.” One of the spectators pushed through the crowds, seized hold of one of the bars of the cart and contemplated this awful sight for a moment in silence, and then said to the dying man in a solemn voice, “Yes, there
is
a God.”
At the Place de la Révolution, Robespierre was tied to the plank in readiness for death. Far from being able to display silent, dignified courage to the end, when Sanson pulled away the makeshift bandage binding his jaw, he could not stop himself from screaming in terrible agony which, as the crowding onlookers saw, was only silenced by death.
Among the batch of twenty-two victims who would die with Robespierre that day, the report of the execution reveals, number 13 was “Antoine Simon, shoemaker, aged fifty-eight years, a native of Troyes, department of Aube, residing at Paris, no. 32 Rue Marat.”
Simon’s political ambitions—which he had hoped would release him from poverty and obscurity—had brought him nothing but a bloody end. In the days that followed, three hundred of Robespierre’s supporters throughout France were rounded up and sent to the scaffold.
 
At dawn, the day after Robespierre’s death, Marie-Thérèse “heard a frightful noise in the Temple; drums beat, gates were open and shut.” She was very uneasy at the uproar and soon found out that it was caused by a visit from members of the National Convention, “who came to assure themselves that everything was secure.” This delegation was led by Barras, who had just been made Commander General of the army and was also appointed by the Committee of Public Safety to guard the “tyrant’s children.” Given the secrecy surrounding the captivity of the royal orphans and the very few people who had actually seen them in the last few months, Barras wanted to satisfy himself that there had been no conspiracy to spirit the royal orphans out of the Temple prison.
Upstairs, Marie-Thérèse heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairway and “the bolts of my brother’s door drawn back.” She flung herself out of bed and hurriedly dressed before anyone could enter her room.
On the floor below, General Barras was coming face to face with the cruelty of Louis-Charles’s captivity and was apparently taken aback at what he saw. As he entered the foul-smelling, dark room, covered in filth and excrement, he was struck to find the child was curled up in a small cot, shaped like a cradle, in the middle of his room and not in the bed close by. The cot was much too small for him and had no sheets or blankets, only a mattress. He lay motionless, dressed in dirty, tattered clothes. Barras assumed he was asleep, but as he drew nearer he could see that the child’s eyes were open, watching him. The general asked him why he was lying in this small cot: “The child, without moving at all, answered that he was in less pain in this cot than in his bed.”
The general then asked whether he was ill and where the pain was. “The child, instead of speaking, pointed to his head and his knees. Barras asked him to get up. He didn’t move at all, so he asked the officers to raise the child up carefully and to stand him on the floor so that he could watch him walk. The child resigned himself to the care that was taken to stand him up. No sooner was he on his feet than he collapsed against his cot, resting his head first.” Was this debilitated child who could barely stand or talk really the offspring of the famous Bourbon dynasty?
“Barras again ordered them to attempt to stand him on his feet by lifting him by the arms. As the child took the first step, he appeared to be suffering from such pain that he was allowed to sit down.” Noticing the boy’s tight clothing, Barras had the trousers cut open. He saw at once that the child’s knees were “terribly swollen and a ghastly color, as well as his ankles and hands. His face was puffed and pale.” When he questioned the guards, “he learned the child neither slept nor ate.”
General Barras then went to see Marie-Thérèse. She reports, “He spoke to me, called me by name and seemed surprised to find me risen.” After a brief visit, she then heard the delegation leaving. “They harangued the guards and exhorted them to be faithful to the National Convention. There
were many cries of
Vive la République! Vive la Convention!”
Then as the sounds receded into the distance, a deep silence once more invaded the Tower.
According to Barras’s account given years later, he took action to help Louis-Charles. “I gave orders to the Commissioners and scolded them for the neglected state of the room … . I proceeded to the Committee of Public Safety and informed it that order has not been troubled at the Temple, but the prince was dangerously ill. I gave the order that he should be taken for a walk and summoned Monsieur Dessault [a doctor] … . I gave the order that other doctors be consulted and that they examine his condition.” Despite these claims, nothing happened and there is no confirmation in the Temple ledger of the arrival of a doctor.
General Barras’s interest in the boy appears to have been a fleeting one. Caught up in political concerns, he seems to have made little effort to ensure that his orders were carried out. As far as the child was concerned, Barras’s primary concern, like others before him, was security at the prison. He wanted to ensure that members of the Commune did not try to take charge of the children again and use them as a political weapon. After his visit he gave orders that the garrison at the Temple be strengthened still further; according to Marie-Thérèse, the guard was doubled! Although Barras asked that the boy’s room be cleaned and that he be given fresh clothes, the prison staff were loath to carry out these orders. There are several possible reasons for this. The guards may have been unimpressed by Barras’s apparent show of sympathy for the son of the despised king and queen, and were reluctant to improve the conditions of the boy. Cleaning out his cell was a filthy job and they may have regarded such work as beneath them. More significant still, although Robespierre was dead, the mood in France was still uneasy and fearful. No one in the prison dared to take a lead and lay themselves open to the charge that they were helping the royal family. They had already seen committed republicans go to their deaths on trumped-up charges of royal sympathies. Weeks later, the child’s room and clothes were as filthy as they had been on Barras’s visit.
Three commissioners were notionally appointed to oversee the boy’s care, including his education. These commissioners seemed to have done very
little; no schooling was provided and no doctor was summoned to investigate any illness. However, Barras did make some headway. He succeeded in having a guardian, Jean-Jacques Christophe Laurent, appointed to provide personal care for Louis-Charles. This may have been more out of a wish to have someone he could trust to keep a close eye on the boy to make sure that he did not escape, rather than out of a desire to improve his plight. Jean-Jacques Laurent was, however, quite unlike Louis-Charles’s previous “guardian,” the cobbler, Simon.
Marie-Thérèse was struck by the difference when she first met him. Laurent was a young, educated Creole from Martinque, with a gentle personality and an air of respect for the prisoners. “He asked me politely if I wanted anything. He came daily three times to see me, always with civility, and did not ‘thee and thou’ me. He never searched my bureaus and closets,” she wrote with relief. Although Laurent was a committed republican, this did not blind him to the cruelty being inflicted on the nine-year-old boy in the Temple. He was horrified by what he saw when he entered his cell for the first time.
As he approached the dark room he was aware of an overwhelming stench coming through the grille. The bolts were drawn back and he entered, holding his candle high, to find the floor was covered in vermin and excrement. With a sense of shock Laurent caught his first glimpse of the child. He was lying so still and silent, he was almost inanimate. His clothes were foul smelling and torn, his hair was “stuck fast by scurf, like pitch.” Appalled at this, Laurent challenged the prison guards about why no action had yet been taken to clean the boy and his room. He also made a full report about what he saw and what should be done. It may well be that his sympathy for the boy was also tempered by his concern that if the boy should die in his care he might be held responsible. He immediately set about protecting his interests and insisted on a formal inquiry into the child’s condition and circumstances. Consequently, several officials from the Commune came to check on Laurent’s claims. Their reports confirmed what Barras had seen; an emaciated boy in great pain, his head and neck fretted with sores, his shoulders stooped, his limbs unusually long and thin, and blue and yellow tumors on his wrists and knees.

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